The Winds of Change
by Marauder-In-Disguise
Summary: "He'd agonised, actually agonised, for hours, over her."


**A/N – Written for ilovetvalot, who works so hard for all of us :) She suggested the pairing and the song 'Make You Feel My Love' by Adele. I don't do romance but it just got hold of me and it wouldn't let go. **

**Disclaimer – I own nothing. Never have done, never will.**

As far as David Rossi was concerned, FBI official functions were good for only two things. The first was the very welcome open bar policy, and the second was the opportunity to appreciate the vast array of formal gowns and things that they did to the female form. He was taking the opportunity to indulge in both of those benefits, lounged at the bar with a glass of scotch in his hand and his eyes lazily following the movement of the crowd. He was pacing himself on the alcohol, the hour still being early; when he had retired the first time, he'd promised himself that he would never attend another deadly dull function. But then he had come back and he'd seen what the bureaucracy was doing to Aaron and he'd offered to share the load. The quietly grateful look on his friend's face was all he needed to remember when he found himself in the middle of a conversation about the budget restraints of such and such a department and _blah – blah – blah. _

Politics.

He couldn't be doing with it.

He drained his glass and called for a top up. The scotch wasn't as good as that in the bottles in his drinks cabinet at home, but when it was free you couldn't really argue. A movement by the door caught his eye – a late arrival – and for want of anything else to do he looked directly at the woman. The first thing he noticed was that the emerald green dress she wore was clinging in _just_ the right places. The second was that the wearer was Erin Strauss. He was mildly surprised at his own surprise, having been expecting her arrival for some time, but there was something about that dress, above all the others he had seen her wear, that made her look stunning.

"Well damn," he murmured into his glass, watching her glide across the dance floor and launch effortlessly into a conversation with a sergeant – major type, wearing a tux that was just slightly too small in the collar for him. He took her hand and kissed it, murmuring something that made Erin smile. Well, almost smile, because Dave could see the taughtness around her mouth and how she couldn't quite meet the man's eye. The sergeant didn't notice, talking enthusiastically about something or the other.

Erin stayed with him a while before politely excusing herself and moving on to the next person. Mingling. Networking. Doing all the things that the stupid FBI functions were for. And Dave watched her the whole time, from the safety of his seat at the bar. He watched every smile, analysed every shake of the head or careless gesture of the hand and by the time she had been in the room for a little over half an hour, he knew that she had something on her mind.

When dinner was announced and they were all invited to take their seats in the next room, Dave strode across the room and took up a position by Erin's side.

"Good evening," he said simply.

"David. Where have you been?" she raised an eyebrow elegantly in his direction.

"I've been doing exactly what I'm supposed to, Erin," he said sardonically, "Playing nice with all the boys and girls and feeding their egos, just like I was told."

She snorted.

"You'd know all about egos, wouldn't you?"

"I'm hurt," he bit, offering his arm to her which she took, pouring as much contempt into the innocuous gesture as she possibly could, "To dinner?"

They walked in silence to their table, and it was only once they had sat down, with him pulling Erin's chair out for her in a perfectly innocent display of chivalry, that he realised she might be wondering why his spare hand had rested on the arm she had hooked through his. It was too familiar a gesture, and he knew that she knew it too, judging by the way her eyes were boring into him. He made a show of removing his tuxedo jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair in a wrinkle free fashion, and by the time he dared to look at her again she was looking away. He chastised himself; he was getting too sloppy, letting too many things get past his carefully constructed boundaries. She might even begin to suspect something.

Their table, complete with eight other guests who ranged enormously in quality of company and quality of tailoring, proved enough of a distraction that Dave could legitimately ignore Erin for most of the meal. When they did speak, it was in their usual fashion; clipped words and sarcastic tones that told the rest of the table just how much they hated one another and thus maintained the image of the Rossi-Strauss head to head that was becoming almost legendary. It was practically showbiz.

And whilst the conversation flowed around him, Dave had to work very hard to not give himself away by staring too much at the shine of Erin's perfectly arranged hair and the way that her dress caught the light and seemed to shimmer as though it were made of real gemstones. He had to work hard, because he couldn't have anyone know – least of all her – that he was in love. That he had been in love for a while now, and that he had no idea what to do now that he had admitted it to himself.

_Erin Strauss. _

_The bitch._

_The deadly foe._

_He loved her._

He'd never loved a woman like her. Well, that wasn't true. He'd never loved a woman like her since Emma. Because Emma had been smart and strong willed too, and it had taken him almost fifty years to work out that his type of woman was just that; someone who could match him blow for blow in a battle of wits and who would kick his sorry ass if she thought he needed it. The marriages, the flings, the one night stands – none of them had worked out because he had been looking in the wrong place for the wrong thing. He thought admitting that to himself would have made his life easier.

Boy, was he wrong.

Where did you start when you wanted to negate twenty five years of sniping and arguing and tell your enemy that all you wanted to do was hold them and kiss them and hope they loved you as much as you loved them? He'd always been told that there was a thin line between love and hate, and that was all very well, but how did you admit that you had crossed the line when you were sure that the other person was firmly on the other side? He'd agonised, actually agonised, for hours, over her. He'd imagined every possible scenario – Erin laughs in his face, Erin tells him he's drunk, Erin slaps him, Erin tells him that she hates him. Erin melts and kisses away his stutters was very low on the list of possible outcomes. David Rossi had talked down men holding guns to his head, and he couldn't find the courage to talk to Erin. It seemed almost like his own mind was playing a prank on him.

After dinner came the inevitable dancing, and Dave very quickly excused himself back to the safety of his bar stool. Erin danced with a couple of big shots, and Dave successfully poisoned the arrowhead of jealously inside him with more alcohol. He had no right to be jealous, not when he was too much of a coward to march up to her and tell her exactly what was on his mind. Eventually, out of mercy for himself, he wandered to the bathroom. When he came back, there was someone sitting on his vacated stool. He slipped into the spare one next to it.

"Not dancing, David?" Erin asked, her fingers curled delicately around the stem of a wine glass, "When you're such a people person?"

"You'd know all about that, Erin," he grinned nastily, "Are your lips sore from all the ass kissing?"

"I'll have you know that the 'ass kissing', as you so eloquently put it, was all done in the name of saving as much of your budget as I can. You don't have to thank me. I'll expect the basket on my desk."

"You might be able to guilt trip Aaron but you've got nothing over me," Dave drawled. He expected a stinging retort, not the sigh and the swilling of the wine glass that he got instead.

"What's wrong, Erin?"

"Nothing I want to discuss with you."

He reached out and gently captured her wrist. To her credit, she didn't flinch at his touch.

"Come on. Try me."

She sipped her wine, a slight flush reddening her neck and face as she eyed him thoughtfully.

"It's Malcolm," she said eventually, "We signed the divorce papers less than a week ago and he already won't answer his phone. Evan misses him."

"He might just need some time to clear his head," Dave said, trying to be reasonable, "He loves that kid, I'm sure."

"He might love him but he's too busy in Hawaii with the Little Miss," Erin bit, her eyes flaring momentarily, transforming the melancholy woman into the demon he adored so much, "After everything I did for him, I can't believe it's come to this."

Her voice caught slightly, and Dave looked up sharply to see a dangerous and uncharacteristic sheen to her eyes. She swallowed it away quickly and drank some more of her wine.

"You didn't need to hear that."

"Erin, I can't say I don't understand. Been there, remember?"

She glanced down at their hands, which had somehow become tangled together in the course of their short conversation. Dave's fingers were curled around hers, and at some point his thumb had begun a gentle movement up and down the length of her ring finger. From anyone else, she would have found the gesture comforting. From David though, for some reason, it felt practically erotic, and with that thought Erin Strauss realised something very important – something that she had been keeping under wraps until further examination could provide an answer.

She looked once more into his eyes, dark and shining with something that she couldn't quite identify, and had to gulp. He noticed the movement – did the infuriating man ever not notice something? – and they stared at one another for what felt like a long time.

"Will you dance with me, Erin?"

"Yes."

He threaded her arm through his own and led her to the dance floor. It was almost empty but that didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was the smell of Erin's hair as he pulled her against him, and the feel of her arm around his back and of her hand grasped in his as he led them on a lazy turn around the floor. His heart thudded painfully in his chest and he was worried that he might actually be about to have a heart attack when she spoke, whispering to him softly.

"I can feel your heart beat."

"Well that's a relief."

"Don't do that, David," she said, looking up at him.

"Do what?"

"Be defensive. Hide behind your attitude. I know what you're really thinking."

"I wish you did."

She pulled away from him, stopping them dead in the middle of the floor. Incredulously, she shook her head.

"David, do you honestly think I would be dancing with you if I _didn't_ know what you were thinking?"

"I suppose not," he conceded, hesitantly reaching out to have her once more in his embrace. When she came to him willingly, he grinned into her hair.

"The winds of change are blowing, my love. Are you along for the ride?"

"Anything you can do, David, I can do too. You know that."


End file.
